


Love You More

by crazyparakiss



Series: Love and Regret [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, Consensual Underage Sex, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mpreg, Recreational Drug Use, Switching, Teen Pregnancy, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-11-03 09:54:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10964850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazyparakiss/pseuds/crazyparakiss
Summary: If given the chance to change his fate, Scorpius wouldn’t. Living in torment is worth the gift he received.





	Love You More

**Author's Note:**

> It most definitely has a sequel. Actually the sequel was going to be my submission but it keeps growing so I came up with this instead.
> 
> Albus is sixteen going on seventeen, Scorpius is seventeen going on eighteen and they make a lot of sex. So if that bothers you please don't read.

 

“I’m so glad to be done with school,” that’s what James Potter crows, amidst a crowd of Hogwart’s most popular wankers, and Scorpius ignores them while he lugs his trunk near where his dad stands.

“Can you believe Pudd. United recruited that annoying shit,” Draco enquires of Scorpius, when he’s close enough to catch the low drawl of his father’s posh voice. He shouldn’t smile, but does, and lifts one of his bags over his shoulder.

“Yeah, you’d have been more offended if you saw all the knickers that were tossed at him on the train,” Scorpius lives for winding his father up. Sure enough Draco mutters obscenities in French beneath his breath, as he takes hold of Scorpius’s arm and Apparates them both off of the platform.

As they go Scorpius glances back, catching sight of Albus Potter’s bright smile.

*

It’s a little before midnight, Scorpius is in the downstairs family room--fiddling with his guitar--when Draco strolls in with a stormy expression.

“Da-,” he doesn’t get a full word out before his father is throwing Floo Powder into the hearth and calling out _Harry Potter’s Private Floo--Password is Messr Prongs._

“Potter,” Draco states with a thin veil of annoyance. Though, judging by the bleary way Mr Potter looks up at Draco from the coals, Scorpius figures that Mr Potter has far more to be annoyed about.

“It’s fucking midnight, Malfoy, what do you need?” If their positions were reversed Scorpius knows that his father would be spitting fire, but Mr Potter manages to sound relatively calm, and a bit bored with the interruption. He’s probably used to people ringing him at ungodly hours, being Head Auror and all.

“Teddy’s just Owled me from Azkaban,” and that response makes Scorpius’s stomach swoop while it makes Mr Potter’s face grow grim.

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” he promises and then disconnects the Floo.

“Get your shoes,” Draco commands, brushing away the bit of Floo powder that clings to the cuff of his robes. Scorpius knows better than to argue when his father sweeps from the room.

*

Azkaban prison sends a chill down Scorpius’s spine. Yet, his father and Mr Potter walk in front of him, as if there is nothing in the least bit terrifying about this place that is rife with the stench of death and insanity. Scorpius personally despises his grandfather, but he’s impressed a prissy fucker like Lucius managed to survive five years in this hell.

“He’s in holding,” some Auror says when they approach. “Raving like a fucking chav, Harry,” the man adds when he passes a brass key to Mr Potter.

“Lovely,” Mr Potter mutters and then gestures back at both Draco and Scorpius. “These two are with me to collect him.”

“What two,” there’s cheek to his smile, but Mr Potter seems to appreciate the meaning in his response. “Just be sure to have a chat with that one, yeah? This is the third time in the past month one of us have broken something up at his place.”

“We’re planning on it,” Mr Potter promises with a stern set to his mouth. Then they pass the desk, into a corridor of cells that aren’t large--most unoccupied--but are no less bleak in appearance.

Teddy’s lying on a cot, tossing bits of pebble about when they get to his cell, and Draco’s the one that starts rattling at the bars. “Up, you,” he hisses. When he sits up Scorpius takes a startled step back. Teddy looks like hammered shit. His lip is busted and he’s got blood drying all down the left side of his face--a sizeable gash oozing on his forehead.

“Bout time,” Teddy mutters, not in the least bit apologetic that he’s in this cell for whatever it was he got himself into. “I sent that Owl hours ago.”

Draco sneers, unamused with Teddy’s churlish behaviour. “Yes, well, forgive me for letting you stew in your stupidity.”

“So you here to get me out?” Teddy stands, stretching, and Scorpius can see that his white shirt has massive amounts of dried blood.

“I’ve got conditions to letting you out, Teddy,” Mr Potter tells him, there’s a low, dangerous pitch to his tone that terrifies Scorpius. “If you don’t agree to them I will toss you back into this cell, and I will not lose your paperwork this time.”

With a scowl and a roll of his eyes, Teddy agrees, “Fine, just get me out of here I need a fag.”

*

Scorpius is thankful when they return to the manor, and feels even more relieved when his dad pours each of them a generous helping of the good scotch. He hands the first glass to Mr Potter, murmuring, “That was hell.”

“Always is,” Mr Potter agrees, thanking Draco before he takes an indulgent draw of his drink.

Teddy and Scorpius get theirs last. To Teddy, Draco glares and firmly states, “Only the one, because you’re a right fucking pain when drunk.”

“Yes, Mum,” Teddy snips with an inappropriate smile.

Scorpius’s dad ignores the response, instead turning to Scorpius and with a grim expression, mumbles, “I’m sorry I took you there.” Scorpius thinks he gets why; the journey was meant to frighten him away from turning out like the cousin--practical brother--whom he idolises. He clinks his glass with his dad’s, giving Draco a soft smile.

“I forgive you.” They don’t hug, but the way his dad grins says he loves him and that’s enough for Scorpius.

*

“This is fucking shit,” Teddy grumbles for the millionth time and Scorpius smacks him in the back of his bright head. “The hell was that for,” Teddy demands, voice more growl than anything. Scorpius smiles sweetly in response.

“Just shut up, Teds,” Scorpius sighs at him, as he lifts his paintbrush to the wall of this too fancy loo. “I could fuck off and leave you to this shit alone.”

“You wouldn’t,” Teddy frowns, but he doesn’t sound so certain. “You’ve got to hate this, too.” Then, flopping to the floor, which is amusing because Teddy is so long the motion is awkward, he adds, “I mean, we could go have a drink and look for willing shags.”

“No,” Scorpius replies, voice blank. “We’re not chasing sex. We’re doing these chores for your family so that your godfather will forgive the fact you near beat a man to death.” He flops down beside Teddy, no less awkward due to the length of his own body, and bumps their shoulders together. “I love you, man, but you can’t keep doing shit like that.”

“He needed it,” Teddy reminds. “He was trying to have his way with some girl that was drunk in my club’s loo.” His eyes are dark, full of a rage Scorpius doesn’t see often, “I can’t forgive that kind of shit.”

“I know, but remember my dad and your godfather can’t save you if you actually kill someone.” That said he stands back up, grabbing his paint roller, “Now get up here and help me finish this. This orange is so violent I feel like my eyes are going to bleed from the assault.”

“Don’t let Nikki hear you saying that, she’s fucking sensitive about her boutique.” Teddy climbs to his feet, scowl in place when he looks at the wall they finished--Scorpius doesn’t need to be an accomplished Legilimens to know that Teddy also believes this colour is fuck awful.

Scorpius rolls his eyes when he finally responds, “Your family is fucking pretentious. From the way Draco goes on about them you’d think they’d be unrefined and fun.”

“Not my family, not really--if it was I’m sure I’d need therapy for fucking one of them,” Teddy shrugs. Scorpius makes gagging noises, causing Teddy to cackle at his expense.

*

“It’s done,” Teddy tells Dominique Weasley--his thick arms crossed, defiant, as he looks down on her petite form. She’s not one to be intimidated even if she stands at little more than five feet high, while Teddy stands a foot and a half taller. She just glares up at him with the prettiest blue eyes Scorpius has ever seen, and crosses her slim arms over an impressive chest--not that he’s looking. He’s afraid to look, to be honest, she seems like she’d rather wear his bollocks around her throat than play with them.

“You’re joking, the paint is patchy and sloppy--much like yourself,” she smirks. Scorpius claps Teddy on the shoulder, in warning, before he can start hurling insults or hexes. Then she adds, “Uncle Harry said you’d be helping with the entire shop. I’ve got a lot that needs finishing so I can open by the end of August.”

“I didn’t say I’d do this all fucking summer,” Teddy explodes. Scorpius wisely remains quiet, because Teddy did, in fact, agree to whatever Harry or Draco decided for the duration of a year. Draco’s already decided Teddy will help Scorpius during the day, without pay, at Draco’s apothecary--and Teddy’s told Scorpius Harry’s planning on pimping him out, as an errand boy, to all the shop owners in Hogsmeade.

“Yeah, you did,” Dominique replies with a dry tone, and steps into Teddy’s space--crowding him against an unfinished display cabinet. “And I’ve got a lot to get done, so belt up and help or I’ll call your god-daddy, to take you back to that hovel of a cell.” Scorpius admires the way she handles his untameable cousin; he thinks perhaps she’s wasted in a shop, when she should clearly be working with feral beasts.

Teddy sucks his teeth, and agrees after a minute of visibly debating to tell her to get stuffed.

“Good, now--Albus and Lily will be here soon to help with some things. But you’re doing all the heavy work.”

“Want me to call you Mistress as well,” Teddy grumbles, even though he’s watching her arse bounce as she saunters off. However, Scorpius isn’t really paying attention because he’s too busy lingering on the fact that Potters are coming--Albus Potter specifically.

*

There’s something no one knows about Scorpius Malfoy. No one, not even Teddy--the person he tells everything. His well guarded secret is that he’s head over heels for Albus Severus Potter, and has been since he was eleven years old. That old slag Pansy Parkinson would be thrilled if she knew, and he’s sure all of his father’s friends would take the fucking piss out of him for wanting a Potter--so he does what he can to keep his feelings under wraps.

On the first train ride to school Scorpius had been crying--he’d been emotional about all the firsts he would never get to share with his mum--and Albus had happened upon his compartment. He didn’t stay, but he didn’t tease Scorpius. All Albus had done was smile, warm and sympathetic as he passed a chocolate frog to Scorpius, whispering, “I’m sad, too.” Before he darted off towards a voice in the corridor that called for him. His scent then had been like lemon bars, sweet and simple. With that first whiff Scorpius was enchanted.

That pull of affection only got worse in puberty, especially after Albus’s scent became more intense. Full of wild seduction and something that lured Scorpius like sin. He popped his first knot to that scent, and spent an entire school day near Moaning Myrtle’s abandoned u-bend pulling himself off. Which was embarrassing to explain to his dad and Head of House when Draco was called to the school to discuss this unusual behaviour. Scorpius’s father gave him the most uncomfortable and stiff sex ed. talk of his life. Teddy’d been much better about explaining all the things Scorpius wanted to know about knots, heats, Omega physiology and Alpha instincts.

Albus’s charm haunted him in his dreams more frequently, and in more vivid detail when Albus started posing for one of his Aunt’s clothing lines. There were some scandalous shots that should’ve probably never been shown to the general public--especially the one where Albus’s bare torso was covered in dark red rose petals. Scorpius’s nightly dreams after that picture often contained Albus arched beneath him with Scorpius smearing come into Albus’s stomach. The rest of the world started paying more attention to Albus in the trash rags after that, and then there were candids from the Potters many summer holidays. Featuring a lot of photos of Albus golden skinned and laughing. Those are the photos Scorpius loves the most. The grocer’s always have trash rags full of Potters. Harry, Ginny, James, Lily, but the one Scorpius is always drawn to is Albus. His bright smile and the unabashed way he flirts with everyone around him--he’s like sunshine. Warm and vibrant.

Draco hates the popularity of his least favourite family. Often lamenting at Scorpius, with a voice that carries, “It’s a damn shame. All of them were given everything the moment they left their father’s bollocks.” Scorpius never points out that his father, at one time, was a lot like the Potter children. He also doesn’t tell his dad he’s got fashion rags, full of Albus in various states of undress that he pulls himself off to. That’s not something he wants to tell anyone, ever.

Now, in Dominique’s boutique, Scorpius grows hard watching Albus move about on his hands and knees while shifting around framed images of himself, Lily, Dominique, and a male Veela on the floor. Trying to decide which best way to arrange them on the wall.

“What do you think,” and it takes Scorpius a full minute to realise that question was directed at him.

“Um,” he shuffles around, grateful that he wore baggy jeans today, along with a long, thin jumper. He doesn’t need to embarrass himself anymore than he already has. When Albus first walked in he’d shattered an expensive vase--because the rich scent of him startled Scorpius. “I’m probably not the person to ask.”

There’s that smile, the one that makes Scorpius melt a little inside, and Albus shakes his head. “I’ve seen you help Professor Clayton with her art collection. The way you arranged her portraits was stunning.” He flushes beneath the compliment, but ducks his head so that Albus can’t see the heat in his cheeks. Draco made sure he was brought up with a refined eye, and Professor Clayton had offered him extra credit for his help--now he’s glad, because the boring shit he’s dealt with has led to this moment. A shared moment with Albus.

“I think the one of Dominique should be in the centre of a wall, alone, since she’s so prominent and this is her place. Like a queen.” She acts like a stuffy fucking queen all the damn time, so Scorpius finds it fitting.

Lily appears unimpressed--like she can see right through Scorpius’s intentions towards her brother. But he doesn’t pay attention when Albus claps his hands together--excited by the suggestion. “Yeah, we all know she’s the queen so I think that works wonderfully.” He shuffles some things around, bum pointed out and Scorpius darts his glance away. Lily is giving him face full of judgement, causing him to scowl in confusion.

Once Albus has them arranged in the way he wants, his fingers gesture for Scorpius to come help him and like an obedient dog Scorpius does as told. Teddy’s still having a row with Dominique, about lighting or some shit--and Scorpius thinks there’s more to their need to fight than Teddy would like to believe. Teddy’s been calling her a fucking pain in the arse for a few days straight, but he’s always letting his hands linger on her skin and she doesn’t try to shake Teddy off. If anything Dominique presses closer.

“I’ll just use my wand,” Scorpius shrugs when Albus and Lily complain about having traces still on theirs. Because putting up portraits manually is too much work for them.

“Isn’t it nice to have a big, legal Alpha to help us,” Albus teases, fluttering his lashes at Scorpius--causing his stomach to roll in pleasure. He flicks his wand, showing off when he makes the pictures put themselves up on the pale gold walls. Lily gives him a knowing glance, but Scorpius ignores her when Albus touches his arm and laughs. An enchanting sound that Scorpius could happily listen to forever.

“Want to get some lunch,” Albus jerks his head at the door. “I think those two need some time to work out their differences.” Scorpius agrees when the insults start getting more vulgar. Both of them have a fondness for the word cunt, and Scorpius’s eyebrows draw together in obvious disgust.

“Yeah, what sounds good?” He follows the Potters out of the shop, and Albus starts up the Alley, passing by the stalls and cheap chip shops Scorpius likes to frequent with Teddy. He has them follow him to the posher curve of Diagon. Where the expensive bistros, cafes, and restaurants reside; Scorpius’s dad and Gran drag him to these establishments on Sundays. The one day of the week his father makes him “pretend to be a civilised wizard”. It’s the day he hates the most, to be honest. Teddy often jokes that he was switched at birth with some other sod, and that poor bastard is living in misery somewhere in South London while Scorpius withers away in Wiltshire.

“La Lune sound good to you?” Albus enquires of him, and Scorpius shrugs. He’s not a fan, but he’ll eat whatever. He can grab a greasy basket of chips before he heads out with Teddy.

Albus orders for them all, and Scorpius goes with it until Albus asks if he wants a glass of wine. Albus is a month or more from his seventeenth birthday, and Scorpius isn’t terribly fond of wine. He’s into liquor or cheap piss when he partakes. “No, I’m fine thanks.” He doesn’t miss the way Albus pouts.

“I’d drink it, you know,” Albus whispers when their waiter leaves. Scorpius rolls his eyes at him.

“Yeah, I’ve met your dad. I’m not fond of the thought of him stringing me up by my bollocks because I bought his kid a drink he’s not old enough to order on his own.” The trip to Azkaban to fetch Teddy is the only time Scorpius ever wants to step foot into that place, and getting Head Auror Potter’s kid a drink seems like the kind of thing Mr Potter would gladly stick Scorpius in a cell for--if not kill him. Alpha parents can be a lot more protective of their Omega children, or so Scorpius’s heard and he doesn’t fancy finding out the truth of those rumours.

“You’re a lot less rebellious than your appearance suggests,” Albus has a teasing lilt to his tone and Scorpius tries not to bristle at his words.

*

After lunch, when they return to the shop, they find Teddy hastily buttoning up his shirt and Dominique adjusting her top. Scorpius lifts an eyebrow, but doesn’t comment. Teddy’s got that warning look on his face--the one that says he will torture Scorpius with all manner of hexes if he opens his gob.

“We’re done for today,” he says to Scorpius, grabbing him by the upper arm as he starts for the door.

“Don’t forget we’re having a dinner party at The Burrow next weekend,” Albus reminds, and with a gentle grin adds. “You should come with him, Scorpius.”

He doesn't respond as he follows Teddy out.

*

Teddy passes him a lit cigarette and Scorpius takes it with a grateful grunt. They walk in silence, heading in the direction of Fallen Star’s Apothecary--where Scorpius is sure that Draco is hissing about them being later than he expected. Because Draco hates having to pay house-elves more than he has to; there are days when his dad goes on lengthy tirades about _Little Miss Muddy and her fucking do-gooder ways_. It’s the only thing that makes his dad mad enough to use the Mudblood slur, and usually after he does he appears disgusted with himself. Scorpius often wonders how hard it is to be Draco--caught between knowing what’s right and acceptable and all the bigotry Lucius drilled into his privileged head when he was growing up.

“So are we going to talk about what I walked in on,” Scorpius finally ventures to ask, turning his attention back to his cousin. The cousin who look like he’s having a bit of a mental breakdown.

“I’d rather not,” Teddy grumbles.

Scorpius grins, feeling clever when he says, “So are you going to need more therapy since you've fucked more of your pseudo family.” He shouldn’t take the piss, but part of him thinks Teddy needs a bit of ridiculing after all the crap he’s been putting Draco and Mr Potter through.

“Quit with that cheek or I'll start calling you bruv,” Teddy threatens. Making Scorpius laugh.

“Sure, the day you start talking like those annoying tossers you mock I'll die.” Teddy’s always ranting about those wankers who come into his club, with their ugly baseball hats and track suits and popular trainers. It’s one of the few things Teddy and Draco agree upon.

“Worth a shot.” Teddy chuckles and then when the shop is in sight mutters, “Let’s not mention this to your dad, yeah?” As if Scorpius is stupid enough to mention anything he does or sees with Teddy to Draco--he likes Teddy, more than a bit, and doesn’t fancy seeing him blown to smithereens.

Scorpius scoffs, “As if I mention anything I see with you to him.”

Relieved Teddy smacks him on the shoulder, “Thank fuck for that, I'd quite like to keep you. And your dad knowing what a cock up I am might put a damper on things.”

Scorpius knocks Ted’s shoulder with his own, snuffing out his cigarette with his boot, “You forget, _bruv_ , that I'm a legal adult now and my dad can't make me do anything.”

Teddy scowls, “That cheek is gonna get you beat.” Then with a pleading tone says, “Please never refer to me in that manner ever again.”

Scorpius cackles, “So long as you promise to do the same.”

“Fucking brat,” but Teddy sounds fond when he follows Scorpius into the shop. Where Draco immediately starts raving about, much to their amusement.

*

Draco being right is something Scorpius hates to admit, but as he stands awkwardly, on the fringes of a Weasley party, he's got to admit his dad _is_ right. These gingers are many and loud; Scorpius feels horribly out of his depth.

“You'd think they'd figure out what causes all that,” Albus quips when he stops beside Scorpius, a small glass of something that looks to be smoking. _Fire whiskey._

“What causes what now,” Scorpius replies, and Albus smiles that wide grin that makes Scorpius’s pulse spike.

“You looked a little ill at ease,” Albus settles closer; Scorpius can smell him. Wild honeysuckle and gardenia. It's more intoxicating than the drink Albus tips down his own throat. Scorpius is sticking to the kiddie punch, hoping to remain blessedly sober--lest he do something he regrets. Like bury his nose in Albus’s neck--which is frowned upon in all of society--and tell the other man that Scorpius wants to bury his tongue where his scent is most potent. “So I figured I'd make a joke about how my family hasn't figured out how to work a contraceptive yet.”

Scorpius’s dry reply leaves him before he can stop it, “I figured you lot enjoyed overpopulating the earth.” Which sounds like a horrible line in his own ears.

Albus doesn't take offense, nor does he mock Scorpius for his horrible attempt at flirting. Instead adding, “More like we're all too thick to work out that sex leads to children when precautions aren’t taken.”

Scorpius doesn't offer a reply, too busy trying to puzzle out if that was Albus’s version of giving him a line, and eventually Albus gets back to it. Too late to try and call Albus back, or continue with his shit attempt at seduction. Scorpius just stands on the fringes, watching this lot make merry--about nothing it seems--and wonders if he should go find Teddy. However, he vetoes that idea when he realises Dominique is also suspiciously absent from the party. He’s caught Teddy at it enough to know what they’re getting up to, and he doesn’t fancy having to look Dominique in the eye after seeing her spread-eagle.

*

“We’re having a bonfire at our seaside cottage, you should come,” Albus shrugs, nonchalant and has no idea that his off the cuff offer is everything to Scorpius. Makes him feel special, and worthy. He wants to ask Teddy about this intense urge to please Albus, but he’s afraid of Teddy teasing him incessantly for life--or possibly pounding him into the ground for looking at one of the Potter children with ill intentions. Scorpius has never been this fascinated with an Omega’s scent, and he’s starting to question if that’s normal. Because if so he might just start fucking Alphas.

“I'll see if I've got time,” but he knows he will make time, even if he hates the idea of sitting around a fire with a bunch of obnoxious gits. He’ll be sitting around that fire with obnoxious gits and _Albus._

Later, when he asks Teddy what he thinks about going to the bonfire Teddy cackles. “You think you can handle the boring boozy get together?” When Scorpius shrugs he laughs harder, “Good fucking luck, mate. That lot is nothing you want to be around, but give it a go if you want.” He wanders down the length of his bar muttering about how he loves the Potter children, but they are all a bunch of berks.

Scorpius doesn’t see what the harm is; boring doesn’t sound too awful once in awhile.

*

Boring is fucking terrible. There’s music playing that Scorpius hates--mostly because the tosser with the guitar holds it as if he’s never seen one before in his life, and he’s got a singing voice that’s similar to that awful Peeves. Everyone is passing around bottles of cheap vodka and firewhiskey. There’s also a couple of spliffs being handed off. Scorpius shakes his head when all of it comes his way, and some bloke keeps calling him a fucking killjoy.

He supposes he is to these people--it’s just Scorpius got bored with being arse over tit a long time ago. He’s also not into putting his mouth on other people’s bottles or drugs. No thanks.

 _God why am I here_ , is constantly bouncing through his mind while he moves slightly away from the large fire, heading towards the beach. Digging his toes into the cold, wet sand where the tide laps at the shore, he lights a cigarette and debates ringing Teddy at the Mirror. He decides against it--knowing Teddy will take the Mickey if he tells him he was right. He’s got a small pocket-book on complex potions theory, and digs it out deciding he might as well be productive if he’s got nothing better to do out here. After all Draco thinks he’s staying over with Ted--keeping an eye on him and making sure Teddy’s not getting into trouble--and Teddy told him he’d better not come back around until after sunrise. Scorpius hadn’t needed to ask why. A quick _Lumos_ and he’s got a small glowing ball hovering, casting enough light for him to read without squinting.

That’s how Albus finds him. “Not your scene, yeah?” His head of dark hair jerks towards where the piss-poor excuse of a party is still going strong. Scorpius can vaguely make out that James Potter’s got his hand up some girls dress and she’s cackling with delight.

Scorpius shrugs, “I just don’t like crowds.” It’s not true, but he doesn’t want to offend Albus by telling him his friends are shit company.

“Bullshit,” Albus laughs, lighting his own spliff. He takes a deep draw before holding it out to Scorpius. He doesn’t mind touching his mouth to something Albus has had in his own mouth, so Scorpius takes the offering. Drawing his own drag off of it while it’s still held between Albus’s thin fingers. There’s a playful glint in Albus’s eyes when Scorpius sits back up, releasing a large cloud of smoke. “I think you know more interesting people and so you find that lot dull.”

He doesn’t confirm or deny, just grins, before turning back to his book.

“Want to go somewhere with me,” Albus enquires, after a long silence between them. There’s something in his voice that piques Scorpius’s interests.

“Yeah,” he replies, and takes the hand Albus offers to him.

*

“Are you sure,” he asks for what feels like the upteemth time, but Scorpius has never been so nervous in all his life. He’s fucked before--plenty--but this makes him feel like a bumbling virgin. Albus responds to him every time with a bright laugh--magical in the way he always is and Scorpius melts beneath the sound.

“I’m not glass, Scorpius,” Albus tells him, grinding against the fingers Scorpius has buried within him. He’s so wet, and Scorpius is in awe. Omega sex is Scorpius’s favourite, but with Albus it feels so much better. “Now, come, Alpha,” Albus purrs like a ridiculous porn. Scorpius is smitten despite himself. “Come ruin me for all other Alphas.”

“Fuck,” Scorpius husks, and moves to do as commanded.

*

Albus is a puzzle Scorpius has yet to solve. He left Scorpius reeling after their night on the beach; dusting the sand from himself and walking off as if nothing happened. Then he starts showing up, in the following days, to Draco’s apothecary--pretending he needs to refill his potion stores. The first day it is Pepper-Up, the next it is a scar balm for his dad, and today it’s a contraceptive.

When his dad leaves for lunch, after casting a curious and suspicious glance in Albus’s direction, Scorpius demands to know what’s going on.

“I like you,” Albus has that wonderful smile on his face, as he leans over the edge of the counter--brushing a soft kiss to Scorpius’s mouth.

Ten minutes later they wind up in the back, pulling each other off while sharing messy kisses. Albus moans, high-pitched needy whines that go straight to Scorpius’s cock when he feels the warm, damp air of them brush against his too hot throat.

*

And so begins the best summer of Scorpius’s life.

Albus always comes to his house--on the days and nights Draco is busy with work or other engagements. The first few times all they do is fuck on every possible surface in the manor, because Scorpius makes it a point to soil his ancestral home with the come of a Potter. It’s his own personal ‘fuck you’ to the sods who came before him--the ones that were full of hate and shame.

But it grows from fast, needy shagging into something languorous as the days wear on. There’s a whole afternoon where all they do is lounge naked in Scorpius’s private sitting room--watching old pop-up plays. _Othello_ is Albus’s favourite, and Scorpius is amused that they have something in common--more than fucking. Albus is smitten with the way the pages of the ancient books become the stage and actors. Scorpius has always loved these because he used to watch them with his mum, and Albus is the first person he’s wanted to share these stories with. He leans against Scorpius’s side--a warm weight that Scorpius misses when he falls into bed at night--and starts spinning tales that are fanciful but charming.

In these hours Scorpius learns that Albus wants to be a painter, but that he’s modeling as a favour to his favourite cousins. Apparently Mr Potter wanted him to quit, after the scandalous photos in one of his earlier fashion rags, but Albus likes when people look at him. “I was born pretty Dominique says, and so for now I don’t mind capturing the world’s attention--best to do it now before my beauty fades, yeah,” he smiles against Scorpius’s hip, tongue drawing lazy patterns over the sharp jut of it. “What about you?” His eyes are wide and curious, a mockery of innocence as he strokes Scorpius to the near point of coming.

Scorpius isn’t sure he’s got delusions of grandeur, the way Albus does when he talks about Paris and art and a fuckload of other things Scorpius’s realist view of the world finds childish. But there’s something about the fire in Albus’s vivid green eyes, when he speaks of such things, that makes Scorpius want to believe in all those dreams, too.

“I’ve got a trade and I’m fuck rich--haven’t really thought about it,” Scorpius replies when Albus stops stroking him, clearly waiting for an answer. Teasing little berk. “Right now all I want to do is bury myself in you.” Because damned if that isn’t the truth.

With a coy smile Albus climbs over Scorpius’s lap, husking, “Dreams do come true,” as he lowers himself onto Scorpius’s cock.

*

Teddy and Marcum, one of Teddy’s mates who has turned into Scorpius’s mate over the years, pop round one Thursday. Which they only do when Scorpius is busy as hell; it’s like they can sense it and make it their life’s mission to bother him at work.

“The headliner that was on for tonight cancelled on me,” Teddy grouses, looking at all the bottles Scorpius has just finished filling--he smacks him on the arm, telling the tosser he better not drop any of them. Draco’ll have both their heads if he does, the shipment of Hippogriff talons was expensive and the brew took two months to seep. “Fuck off,” Teddy mutters at him--with little heat. Then adds, “But we’ve got to play.”

“You know Draco gets his knickers in a knot if I stay out on weeknights. He doesn’t have to pay me to do all the day work,” Scorpius is sometimes amazed at how absolutely cheap his father is. He could own the country trice over if he wanted, but he’s too cheap to pay house-elves or Wizards more than he has to.

“It’s one night, and I’ll come in tomorrow to help you finish--so will Marc.” Teddy jerks his head towards where Marcum is shuffling by a box of Pepper-Up, looking like he’s afraid he will break it. Which is entirely possible, Marcum blinks wrong and walls fall--he’s such a walking disaster.

“You might be useful, Marc would undo all my work.” From the other side of the store Marcum looks relieved that Scorpius said that, and he nods his thanks at Scorpius. Draco’s shouted at Marcum a time or two, and Scorpius can’t blame the bloke for being fucking terrified of his dad’s ire.

“So we’ve got a deal?” Teddy appears entirely too giddy.

“Yeah, yeah, we’ve got a deal.” Scorpius shakes his head, fond, when Teddy woops in victory. “Now get out of here, or Draco’ll make you help when he gets back in from lunch.”

“The overbearing dragon of Wiltshire,” Teddy sing-songs, slinging his arm about Marc’s stocky shoulders as he practically dances them out of the shop.

*

Albus rings him on the Mirror when he’s finishing up, after he and Draco have a row about how he’s going to be at the club all night. Pepper-Up and lots of coffee will keep him from being useless tomorrow, and after he finally gets that through to his dad Draco leaves, telling him to finish bottling up the pickled slugs. Once that’s done he’s free.

“Hey,” Albus wears his usual grin, and Scorpius tries not to appear stupidly smitten. Only hopeless wankers are completely taken with their shag of the moment--and Scorpius isn’t a hopeless wanker.

“Hey,” he responds, feeling stupid.

“What’re you doing tonight,” that’s usually code for--I want to come over and suck your cock. It’s a tempting thought, but Scorpius promised Teddy. And Teddy always comes before a fantastic shag--unfortunately.

“I’ve got a thing to do for Teddy at Hell Gate, but once that’s done I’m probably going to pass the fuck out,” he groans remembering he will have to be in the shop at seven in the morning. Draco might be fine with him rolling in at half-seven, but it’s highly unlikely. “I’ll be lucky if I get four hours of sleep before I’ve got to come back to work.”

“Oh,” Albus appears a little less vibrant. “So, I guess I can’t stay over tonight?”

Which is new, Albus always stays until late, but never overnight. “Um, yeah, I guess you can--but you’d have to come with me to the club.” Because Scorpius really doesn’t want to miss out on sleeping through the night with Albus beside him.

“Yeah, I’d like that,” he smiles again, and asks, “What time do I need to be at your place?”

“We’ll probably go on about nine, maybe later. Teddy’s got another band or two before us.” Scorpius shrugs, “I’ll ask, and ring when I know for sure.”

*

Draco is going to Paris for the week, turns out, to visit Grandfather and Gran. Scorpius is pretty certain “visiting Lucius and Mother” is code for he’s going to visit the Omega whore he keeps in 3éme. He’s not bothered by it, not really, but his dad has this habit of making sure Scorpius’s world is never unpleasant. There’s a need to be worthy in Draco--something Scorpius will possibly never understand, because he isn’t the son of Lucius. He’s the son of Draco, the Draco that Scorpius’s mother’s love healed.

“You’ll be sure to ring if you need me in the shop,” Draco enquires, smoothing down his finest robes while looking at himself in his long, silver framed mirror. Scorpius’s father is horribly vain.

“Yes, yes,” Scorpius waves a bored hand. The faster Draco leaves him, the faster Scorpius can ring Albus--and maybe have one off with him before they have to be at Hell Gate. “I can manage on my own you know?”

“I know,” there’s something soft in his dad’s gaze when he locks eyes with Scorpius, and he shuffles. Feeling a slight bit guilty knowing that he’s lying to his dad.

“Well, don’t come home piss-sodden, do try to keep from embarrassing yourself in public.” He shakes his head with a frown, “Especially since you’ve been photographed out and about with Potters--I don’t need the papers dragging you through hell because of me.”

“I always am--you know I’ve outgrown thinking being arse over tit is fun.” Scorpius laughs when Draco narrows his eyes at him.

“I’m off,” Draco tells him, soon after. “The Floo is open to you anytime. I’m sure your grandmother would love to see you.”

“It’s the grandfather I’d rather avoid,” Scorpius admits, and Draco doesn’t reprimand him for that. He too would love to avoid Lucius, but deals with him because of Narcissa.

“Do keep your cousin out of trouble,” Draco adds as he moves into the private Floo in his bedroom’s sitting area.

“I’ll do my best.” Really that’s all Draco can hope for when it comes to Teddy. Draco’s gone in a whoosh of green flames, and Scorpius hurries back to his own room.

*

Albus steps out of the Floo in Scorpius’s private sitting room with a duffle and a pillow. He gives a sheepish smile when Scorpius lifts an eyebrow at it. “I can’t sleep without my pillow.”

He finds that to be ridiculously endearing, but does not comment.

“Drop your stuff anywhere and we can head out--my dad’s gone for the week so we’ve the place to ourselves.” Scorpius would love to have him the whole time, but doesn’t want to ask. He’s never been fond of the old archetypes. Domineering Alphas who command Omegas to bend to their will; forcing their desires upon them. It’s not for Scorpius--he’s never postured or pursued, he lets the Omegas he’s been with come to him and call the shots. Scorpius concedes all control.

“Can I stay the week?” Albus is shy now, something he rarely is and Scorpius pulls him closer by the belt loops of his jeans. Wanting to assure Albus that he is always welcome.

“If you’re parents won’t come to claim my head then sure.” Their mouths graze against each other, gently. Groaning Scorpius pulls back, “We need to go, before I pull you into bed.”

“I wouldn’t object,” is Albus’s reply and Scorpius thinks him unfair.

“Yeah, but Teddy might come for my head if we don’t go.” Teddy’s ire is something Scorpius has never had directed at him. While he can hold his own in a fight, Scorpius knows that Teddy would knock the shit out of him. Without breaking a sweat.

“The whole world sounds like they’ll come for your head,” Albus teases. “You sure I’m worth it?” It’s playful, and Scorpius knows the question doesn’t have any meaning behind it. So his response to Albus is a gentle smile. While his mind whispers _so fucking worth it_.

*

When Scorpius climbs off the stage, sweaty and full of energy he spots Albus grinning at him from the crowd. His eyes bright and full of excitement. “You were fucking awesome.”

“I suppose,” he smiles in response, then he leans in to say, “You ready to get out of here?” Playing riled him up tonight. He spent most of his time on stage watching Albus scream for him. Which had been quite the turn on when he thought about how he could have him in bed, all week, screaming.

“Took the words out of my mouth.” Albus’s scent is thick with desire, and Scorpius relishes it when he takes hold of Albus’s waist and Apparates them home.

*

Back at the manor they get into the tub, because Scorpius is aching, and Albus has been begging to take a bath together since he discovered Scorpius’s private bathroom. They’ve just not had the chance before.

Now Scorpius relaxes against the side of the deep tub, while Albus scrubs some of that expensive soap Draco always insists on buying over Scorpius’s chest and back. The medicinal properties ease a bit of the ache, and he groans as Albus digs talented fingers into him.

“You’ve got quite a bit of muscle,” Albus comments, with a thoughtful hum of appreciation. His lean fingers tracing the definition--teasing. “What’s your secret,” the question is playful, while Albus presses closer, his breath cool against the heat of Scorpius’s neck.

“I like to fuck,” Scorpius responds, nibbling on Albus’s ear. “Quite the workout when you’ve got a cock-hungry minx wanting you to the point of exhaustion.” Albus purrs, and Scorpius is glad, he’d hate to offend Albus with his piss-poor dirty talk.

“I love your confidence,” Albus murmurs, eyes at half mast when he grabs hold of Scorpius’s cock and grinds against it--not allowing it to slip into him, but teasing the length with the promise of what’s to come. Scorpius doesn’t tell Albus all of his confidence is fake. Most of the time he’s terrified Albus is going to realise he’s not special and go as far from Scorpius as possible.

“I love you,” Scorpius silently mouths against Albus’s sternum, running his tongue over his wet chest. It’s then that he knows he’s fucked, but when he sinks into Albus Scorpius finds he doesn’t care.

*

Teddy looks like shit when Scorpius finally meets him at the apothecary, he also seems more than a little irritated. “Where the hell’ve you been,” he demands. “The Floo orders keep coming and I’m too sodding hungover for this.”

“Sorry, woke up late,” Scorpius tosses his bag behind the counter and reaches for the log where Teddy’s hasty scrawl details the requests. He scowls, that’s going to be more work for him--redoing the log--because Teddy’s shit when it comes to keeping things neat. Draco and Scorpius often rework his club’s books for that reason, so his accountant can actually read the fucking numbers.

“You little fuck-,” Teddy stops, his voice dropping off and Scorpius turns just as an evil grin spreads across Teddy’s mouth. “Well, shit, Pious--I didn’t think you had it in you.”

He frowns, “Pardon?”

Teddy tilts Scorpius’s head back and presses one of his long fingers into the skin at the side of his neck, “While the cat’s away the mice will play.” Scorpius doesn’t get to ask what he’s on about. “Your daddy know you’re playing at house with someone while he’s gone?”

His eyes grow worried and wide, “What?”

“I’m not judging, shit, but you should cover up those lovebites--you’re bound to give these old gossips a lot to chatter about if they see them.” Teddy grins, “Thought you never let one-offs follow you home.”

“S’not a one off,” Scorpius mumbles.

“Ol’ Scorpius is growing into a fine young gentlemen, falling in love and shit.” He punches Teddy in the arm, and Teddy laughs. “Get out of here,” Teddy tells him when he starts pulling out boxes of phials that need labeling.

“What?”

Rolling his eyes Teddy says, “I’m only nice once in awhile, mate, take advantage while you can.” Then, with a curious tone asks, “How long is Draco out of town visiting that Omega bloke he keeps?”

“Week, I think,” Scorpius shrugs.

“I’ll pay for the house-elves, you go enjoy your youth.” He sometimes forgets how awesome Teddy can be.

“Thanks, mate,” Scorpius knocks shoulders with him.

“Well, you’ll owe me,” Teddy reminds him, point at him and giving him a look.

Scorpius’s voice is all laughter when he replies, “Of course.”

*

Albus is still sleeping when Scorpius comes back in, and his heart squeezes at the image Albus makes in his sheets--pale golden skin, tangled in black cotton. When Scorpius runs a hand through his hair Albus stretches, pressing into the touch, and murmurs, “Back already?”

“Teddy saw your marks--thought I’d need some time with my current partner.” Scorpius tries to make it sound like it’s not a big thing.

“Current,” Albus teases. “You’ve had other me’s then?” Scorpius doesn’t tell him there isn’t anyone like Albus--can’t be. All Scorpius has ever had is weak replacements.

“I’ve been with my share of lovers,” is what he settles for instead. Feeling that he has to curb the intensity of their exchanges, lest he get carried away.

“I’ve shared a few mutual knob jobs, and have sucked a few blokes off--but you’re the first I’ve let fuck me like you do.” Albus smiles lazily as if this isn’t some grand admission, and Scorpius tries not to show how much this confession pleases him.

“Well, hopefully I didn’t disappoint,” Scorpius sits beside him, kissing Albus back when he sits up to press his lips to Scorpius’s.

“You’re wonderful, and exceed my expectations.” He seems a little hesitant then adds, “I actually wanted to spend this time with you because I wanted you to be the one I share my heat with.”

Scorpius feels like his stomach leaps into his throat, but manages to remain calm when he says, “Really?”

“Yeah, I mean, I know that’s kind of asking a lot--but I trust you, and I’ve spent puberty having them alone--and it was awful. So, I was hoping I could find someone to share it with me.” Then, embarrassed--a state Scorpius has never really seen Albus in--he adds, “Dominique and Louis said heat is so much better with someone than alone. And knotting is supposed to be phenomenal.”

“I mean, heat sex is nice,” Scorpius agrees, because he’s seen a couple different Omegas through their heats. But it’s intense in a way that is frightening. Soul baring, and Scorpius has only ever done it with people he is close with. And even then he’s never knotted anyone.

“If you’re uncomfortable with it, we don’t have to.” Albus sounds disappointed, but tries to put on a brave smile. He’s got a horrible poker face.

“No,” Scorpius takes his hand. “I just...I want you to be sure you want it.” Because Scorpius wants it; more than he’s ever wanted anything.

Albus lifts his hand, licking at Scorpius’s fingertips, before brushing soft kisses to each, “Yes, Scorpius, I really want this.”

*

Scorpius has been present for two Omega heats. After he turned seventeen, during his Sixth Year, he got permission for time off to help his second cousin, Maria, through her heat. She was bonded, previously, but lost her Alpha female to her father’s ire. Something about how that _Mudblood_ was a disgrace of a partner. Maria’s father is currently in Azkaban for his hateful crime.

Draco had been the one to suggest Scorpius to Maria’s mother. “I know the pain of a lost bonded,” Scorpius can remember him saying. “And I’m not an Omega--her heat will be unbearable.”

It had been. Bringing Scorpius to tears as he tasted her anguish on his tongue.

After, Draco had held him when he came home, and Scorpius wondered if this was how his father felt when he held Omegas who weren’t Astoria.

“It’ll be okay,” Draco had whispered into his hair. “You did well, my son.”

The second heat had been much more enjoyable in an emotional way, not just physically. That one he spent with one of the regulars at Hell Gate--Brody. He was a tall bloke with dark skin, dark eyes, and a talented tongue. His heat had been a few days longer than Maria’s three day heat, and they spent a good portion of it lounging around naked, sharing a spliff, while talking about nothing. But when the need grew too great to ignore Scorpius had fucked Brody thoroughly. There wasn’t any flowery talk or need for comfort; it was raw lust. And when it ended Brody had smacked him on the arse, nibbled on his lip and told him he was welcome back anytime. Scorpius never took him up on the offer, and since then he’s heard Brody’s got himself a steady partner.

Both heats were memorable, but Scorpius is certain Albus’s heat will be unforgettable.

Albus’s heat is dizzying when it comes that afternoon. The scent of him causes Scorpius to stumble when he wakes to the dense smell and taste of it--honeysuckle, lemon, and wild rain. “Alb,” he murmurs, pressing his face into the crook of Albus’s neck. “Alb, you all right?”

“Touch me,” Albus demands, pressing Scorpius onto his back and clambering over his lap. He’s more aggressive than usual and Scorpius surrenders, allowing Albus to take what he needs.

“I’m here,” Scorpius assures with a soothing tone. “Use me as you will, Alb. I’m yours.”

There are some biological needs that never change, possessiveness is one of those traits they have yet to outgrow. Sure enough, Albus’s eyes light up with delight and he purrs as he presses closer to Scorpius, whispering, “Mine.” Then he lowers himself onto Scorpius’s cock, and Scorpius mutters gentle encouragements while Albus cries in relief.

*

After the first wave calms, and Albus rouses from a deep slumber they order some takeaway. The delivery boy looks scandalised when he meets Scorpius in his private sitting room and all Scorpius is wearing is low slung sweats, love bites, and a mixture of Albus’s heat scent and come. He gives him an obscene tip for his trouble, before hurrying back through his shut bedroom door.

“Knot me,” Albus begs when he’s back into the room, and Scorpius nearly drops the cartons of lo mein on the expensive rug.

“Shouldn’t you eat first,” Scorpius has been in heats, and finds the intense desperation on Albus a bit troubling. He doesn’t want Albus to become dehydrated or injured in anyway--especially since he doesn’t think Mr Potter would take too kindly to that being the way he finds out his Omega son is fucking a Malfoy.

“You can feed me while we wait for it to go down,” Albus’s eyes and tone are pleading. Scorpius loses before he can try to form an argument--Albus’s mouth is his undoing when it latches on Scorpius’s own.

“Okay,” he concedes, knowing he is willingly putting himself at Albus’s mercy.

Scorpius settles the cartons of food on his bedside cabinet, allowing Albus to pull him into his bed when the task is done. He watches, in adoration, as Albus pulls down his sweats--licking his kiss swollen lips at the sight of Scorpius’s cock. “I missed you,” Albus confesses.

With fond exasperation Scorpius responds, “I was gone fifteen minutes, at most.”

“I miss you when I’m not touching you,” Albus breathes out, lowering himself onto Scorpius in a torturously slow manner.

It’s not long before Scorpius knots, at Albus’s demanding command, and it would embarrass him if Albus wasn’t coming just as quickly.

Albus is less desperate, now, and makes himself comfortable in Scorpius’s lap--grinning down at where Scorpius lays trapped beneath him, and says, “Now I’m hungry for food.”

“Fucking prat,” Scorpius laughs, but reaches for the cartons and chopsticks. Feeding Albus like a well-trained dog. Teddy would say he’s whipped, and Scorpius would gladly agree.

*

Albus is insatiable. To the point where Scorpius can’t even get it up near the end of the second day. “I need you,” Albus begs him. So Scorpius fingers his arsehole open, lowering himself down onto Albus when he’s loosened up--giving him the closeness he craves. “Scorpius,” Albus babbles as Scorpius fucks himself on Albus’s cock, “Scorpius--I love you.” He doesn’t say anything back, knowing that this is his heat talking.

“Shhh,” Scorpius whispers, leaning down to kiss Albus as he keeps his pace. “Just feel me, Alb.”

*

“Do it,” Albus commands with eyes that are wet from ecstasy, and yet still full of clarity since they are on the final day of his heat. Scorpius hesitates. “I want it, forever.” Albus speaks against the inside of Scorpius’s wrist, where it rests near his face because Scorpius is holding himself above Albus--trying to ground himself in control while his knot locks them together. When Albus’s teeth graze his pulse he loses it, bucking into Albus despite his knot making it difficult to really move.

“Albus,” he keens.

“Scorpius, I know you want it too,” Albus’s teeth begin to dig in and Scorpius caves when Albus breathes. “Put your mark in me.”

He does, presses his teeth into the skin over Albus’s left clavicle while Albus puts his own mark in Scorpius's left wrist. Bonding them together, forever.

It's the best night of his life, and he's certain it will only get better.

*

That's the thing about being young and stupid, though, you have starry-eyed beliefs about how things will never end.

Only they do.

And faster than anyone can predict.

In the morning Albus is cold. His gaze shuttered when Scorpius asks him if he's okay. It gets worse, much worse, when Albus actually gets a look at the mark on Scorpius, and the mark near his own shoulder.

When Scorpius senses his panic, he goes to offer his comfort but Albus screams, “I can't do this.” Scorpius’s hand hangs there, useless, as his throat grows thick with a lump of emotion. Albus is the one who breaks down in tears, though, hiccoughing through his words, “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry--I don't want a bond.”

It's Scorpius’s turn to become frigid--feeling absolutely betrayed as he glares down at Albus, “Little fucking late for that, don't you think?”

“I'm so sorry,” Albus cries again.

“I heard you,” Scorpius swallows, and with a tight voice mutters, “I think you should leave.” Scorpius can’t look at him; he’s afraid he’ll cry if he does.

Albus doesn't have to be told twice, and Scorpius finds that even more tragic.

 

> Draco’s Interlude
> 
> Scorpius is moody when Draco returns from France, and the first day he brushes it off as nothing more than him having an off day. But when weeks start passing with no change in his attitude Draco thinks something isn’t quite right.
> 
> “Do you need to talk,” he’s horribly uncomfortable when he asks, but does his best not to show it to Scorpius. Who is standing in the supply room marking bottles that’ve expired.
> 
> “Hmm,” he grunts, and Draco uses all of his patience to not snap at his son. It’s times like these he misses Astoria even more, because he’s such a cock-up of a human he’s not sure he’s managing this right.
> 
> “Well, if you need to, I’m here,” it’s stiff, and awkward, but gets a laugh out of Scorpius--that’s something at least.
> 
> *
> 
> Teddy’s club is the sort of establishment Draco doesn’t frequent, but he pops round one day--when Teddy isn’t doing chores for either Potter or Draco--in the hopes to find out more about Scorpius’s bleak mood.
> 
> It’s daylight hours so the club is closed, and Teddy is supposed to be cleaning the place or stocking it full of necessities like paper in the loo and booze behind the bar. Instead he’s got some platinum blonde tart on the bar, spread eagle, fucking her like mad when Draco comes in. He doesn’t say anything, merely arches an eyebrow at the display, and turns to go into Teddy’s office.
> 
> It’s a few minutes later, after Draco hears Teddy profusely apologising, when Teddy walks in--looking as nonchalant as possible. “Erm,” he starts, ever eloquent. “So, what did you need? I didn’t think I was supposed to come round at the apothecary today?”
> 
> “You weren’t,” Draco assures and Teddy breathes out a visible sigh of relief. Teddy flops onto the small sofa he keeps in this space, and Draco wonders, then, how many tarts he’s had in here. It makes him not want to sit. “I’ve come to ask you something pertaining to my son.”
> 
> Teddy glances up at him, from where he’s seated, confusion marring his features. “What about him? He all right?”
> 
> “I wanted to ask you that,” Draco admits, a frown tipping down the corners of his mouth. “He’s been strange since my trip to visit my parents.”
> 
> Quirking an eyebrow, Teddy has a judgemental look on his face when he says, “We know you keep an Omega whore in Paris--maybe he’s pissed you keep tiptoeing around that subject.”
> 
> “I don’t think so,” if that were it Scorpius would yell at him--Draco’s certain. Then he narrows his eyes, “How do you know that?”
> 
> “We’re not stupid--we know you’ve got needs.” When Draco doesn’t look convinced by that reasoning Teddy adds, “Ol’ Lucius let it spill last time he got pissed on sloe gin...apparently that makes him loose at the tongue.”
> 
> “Bloody hell,” Draco mutters, irritated with his father.
> 
> “That’s been years back, Draco, I promise you it didn’t bother Scorpius.” Teddy grins, “I distinctly remember him telling Lucius to fuck off because it was none of the old sod’s business.” Draco feels warm and proud. Teddy notices and grins, a fondness stealing over his own face, “You’ve got a good kid, Draco. He’s just at that age, you know?”
> 
> “What age,” Draco’s not sure what seventeen going on eighteen is actually supposed to be like, when he was seventeen he was too busy trying not to constantly shit himself in fear.
> 
> “Newly adult, thinks he knows everything but is finding out he doesn’t know shit. It can be a real fucking downer.” Teddy speaks from experience, it seems.
> 
> Draco frowns, “You think you’re cute, don’t you?”
> 
> “I think I’m fucking adorable,” Teddy replies, full of cheek.
> 
> *
> 
> “I won’t see you for your eighteenth birthday,” Draco reminds, because Scorpius’s birthday is Halloween and he’s always at Hogwarts when it comes round. “But I hope you’ll tell me when first Hogsmeade weekend is and I’ll come out to celebrate.”
> 
> Scorpius grunts, and Draco supposes that’s as close to a promise as he will get. “I love you,” he tells Scorpius, clapping him on the shoulder. “I don’t want you to forget that.”
> 
> There’s a genuine smile on Scorpius’s mouth when he gazes at Draco, “I won’t, you tell me all the time.” Then, before he goes, Scorpius adds, “I love you too, old man.”
> 
> *
> 
> It’s a week before Winter Hols, and Draco hasn’t heard from Scorpius about Hogsmeade--so he assumes school hasn’t cured his son of his apathy. That’s what he’s worrying over, as he marks inventory, when Potter storms in.
> 
> Draco narrows his eyes, “I didn’t think it was time for your annual visit, Potter.” Because, Potter, being the berk he is, always is sure to be the one to investigate Draco’s shop when the Ministry does their annual sweep of the shops on and near Knockturn Alley. “Should I inform your wife of your obsession with me?”
> 
> Potter isn’t amused, and Draco hasn’t seen him this dangerous since the war. Thankfully he’s still got decent reflexes, and is able to put up a shield when Potter starts flinging hexes.
> 
> “This is harrassment, and I will see you stripped of your crimson robe,” Draco hisses when he fires his own hexes in return. Potter, the fucker, is good at what he does and dodges them easily. All the while marching closer--seeming like he’s looking forward to physically squeezing Draco’s neck.
> 
> It’s no use, Draco thinks and tries to Apparate out of there, but Potter’s thought of that too and has managed to make it where Draco cannot leave. “The fuck is your problem, Potter?”  
>    
>  “You and that little fucking shit you brought into existence,” Potter hisses, shoving Draco into the wall--knocking a good portion of phials to the ground, shattering Draco’s work.
> 
> So Draco fires off a spell that knocks Potter back and spits, “You have some fucking nerve, coming into my business, destroying my work, and insulting my son.” He feels murderous.
> 
> Potter’s eyes are pure fury when he rises to his feet, not bothering to wipe the blood from his split lip. “Your son is a vile little reptile, and deserves more than my insults.” Draco gives him an unimpressed look and Potter adds, “He’s fucked my kid full of his brat.” That floors Draco, but what kicks his knees out from beneath him is when Potter gives the final fact of what’s been driving Scorpius to depression. “He bonded Albus, and Albus says he bonded Scorpius in return...for that alone I will not kill him, but I promise you, Malfoy, I want to.”
> 
> He lowers his wand, going silent for a long while--sorting his thoughts until he finally says, “What do you want from me? I assume you came here to tell me what your demands are.”
> 
> “Bring him to Cornwall when he gets off the train, I’ve a cottage there--it’s where Al’s been since the discovery.” Potter doesn’t look like he’ll kill him, but he doesn’t seem calm either.
> 
> “When is the child due,” Draco asks when Potter moves to leave the shop.
> 
> “Early May,” Potter responds with a tight jaw. Draco watches him go, floored by the knowledge that he and Potter, of all people, will share close kin.
> 
> “Shit,” he mutters to himself. Debating, and deciding against, ringing his mother. This is something Draco will have to deal with alone.
> 
> *
> 
> Steam obscures most of the platform, and from its clouds Scorpius emerges--one of those black cigarettes held loosely between his pale pink lips and Draco frowns at the sight of him. Grey eyes glance up from the small book Scorpius has open in his palm, and he realises, seconds late, that Draco’s seen him smoking. Foolish boy tries for a charming smile, hoping to avoid the tongue lashing that he’s sure is coming. Draco rages against Scorpius smoking--he sees it as low class, uncouth, but Scorpius enjoys his habit and has since just before his Sixth Year. Unfortunately.
> 
> No, Draco’s not frowning about the cigarette--he wishes that were the most of Scorpius’s problems.
> 
> He says nothing, approaching, and when he touches his hand to Scorpius’s arm he Apparates them to the cottage Potter sent him an image of via Owl Post. Scorpius’s pale skin grows frighteningly white when he looks upon the stone face of Potter’s place. Draco’s certain his son is now aware of Draco’s knowledge of the bond. If only it was that alone.
> 
> Potter opens the door before he can say anything to Scorpius, and Draco deflects a hex--knowing that was coming.
> 
> “You’ll cease with your violence, Potter, or I will make sure every single paper is made aware of your brutality and the situation at hand.” Draco’s not bluffing, and Potter can tell. He sheathes his wand, but doesn’t still his tongue.
> 
> Shouting, with a thick finger thrust out at Scorpius, Potter’s face twists with rage. “You,” it’s a terrifying sound, but Draco manages not to wince. “If it weren’t for the love of my wife and son I would see you six feet in the ground.”
> 
> “Careful, Potter,” Draco’s voice is pure steel. Menacing and full of his own fury--because no one threatens his son. “I have no wife, and my son won’t love me any less if I cast your corpse out to sea.”
> 
> “Harry,” Ginevra Weasley pleads, “You must calm down.” Potter relents, huffing as he storms back into the house. At Draco she manages to be polite, but not warm--this is still horrible business after all. “Draco,” then at his still frightened son she tries for a kind smile. “Scorpius--please, do come inside. The winter is bitter this year.” _In more ways than one_ , Draco thinks as he steps into the warmth of the quaint abode.
> 
> “No,” a voice shouts, cracking over a sob. “I don’t want to see him.”
> 
> “Al, please,” Potter is trying to reason with his unruly spawn. “You have to be there to talk about the arrangements--remember?” When Draco sees them together he notices the tragic way Potter watches his wretched son, and Draco wonders if he too would look so helpless in the anguish of his child if Scorpius were crying like that.
> 
> “Why,” Mini-Potter yells again. “Why can’t you and Mum do this for me?” Such a naive, spoilt child this boy is. Draco’s reminded of himself, when he too was spoilt to the point of ruin.
> 
> “Albus, you’re a legal Wizard, and even if you weren’t--this is your child, your mother and I cannot do anything without you here.” Potter appears as if he would give anything to be able to shield his son from this, and Draco hates knowing that Potter can love his children so deeply. He wants to have no pity for the bastard, but does.
> 
> “I never wanted this,” Mini-Potter rages, beating his fists against Potter’s broad chest. “I never asked for this.” Draco almost pities him, too.
> 
> Almost until they begin negotiations and Scorpius won’t raise his eyes--which apparently offends the young, pregnant Potter.
> 
> “I don’t want it,” Mini-Potter hisses, angry and sad and so many painful things that Draco can tell rip through his son like knives. He hates Mini-Potter more than he hates the boy’s father. “I don’t want any of this. I had plans,” he screams, charging at Scorpius, digging desperate fingers into Scorpius’s thick, black jumper. The rage that ignites in Draco’s chest at those words, spoken at Scorpius, is consuming and it takes everything in him not to torture the little berk. As if Scorpius doesn’t have plans, as if Scorpius isn’t worthy of chasing his own dream. As if Scorpius is the only one who should bear this burden. He wants to scream, but Scorpius’s words stop the words in his throat.
> 
> “I’ll take it,” Scorpius promises, with the most gentle voice Draco has ever heard him use. “I’ll take it, and I’ll never ask anything of you.” He brushes a hand over Mini-Potter’s cheek, his smile makes Draco want to cry--but he doesn’t. “Go live your dreams, Alb.”
> 
> Draco notices Potter appears a bit misty eyed, and seems less angry.
> 
> After Scorpius’s declaration, the Potter brat settles onto a sofa, to nap, while Draco and the elder Potters work out the details of an agreement. Because if his son is going to take this child, Potter and his mini-spawn will be welcome nowhere near it. The little shit has done enough damage as is.
> 
> Potter’s brat only wakes to sign away his rights, and Scorpius never glances at him--not since he promised to take the baby. What he does, after he signs his own name, is turn to Draco and says, “Can we go now? I need to rest before work tomorrow.” The shock that flits across Potter’s face makes Draco want to say something horrible, but he refrains. Nodding to Potter instead before escorting Scorpius out of the cottage. Mini-Potter never calls out to them, but Draco can feel his eyes on them as they go.
> 
> *
> 
> “Do you want to talk about it,” Draco enquires of Scorpius, when the shop is empty and they are sorting through stores in the back.
> 
> “No,” Scorpius’s voice is flat. “I’d rather not.”
> 
> “Are you going out with Teddy tonight?” Draco hopes he’ll say yes, for the first time ever he wants Scorpius to go to the club, get piss sodden and be happy--even if only for awhile. Maybe he’ll find someone to fuck Potter out of his system. Being bonded means he can’t impregnate anyone else, only Albus Severus Potter, and Albus will never be able to bear another Alpha’s child. Which, in a way, is good, because at least no more children will be conceived during Scorpius’s years of stupidity.
> 
> “No,” Scorpius replies, voice still flat, “I’m going to go home to finish up assignments and sleep.”
> 
> “Okay,” Draco agrees, watching with a heavy heart as his son leaves shortly after. Gone home to wallow in misery.
> 
> *
> 
> At the end of Winter Hols Scorpius tells Draco he doesn’t want to go back to school, and Draco puts his foot down.
> 
> “I’m a legal fucking adult,” Scorpius reminds him, angry. “Have been for some time now.”
> 
> “I know, but, son, please,” Draco reasons. “You have to finish school. You owe that to your child.” Then with a solemn expression he reminds Scorpius, “We gave Potter our word we would keep up this facade--so that no one will know about you and Mini-Potter.”
> 
> “What’s it matter,” Scorpius mutters.
> 
> “It doesn’t to us, I assure you--the damage is done, but it will matter to every gossip hungry shit. Reporters will follow you both incessantly.” Draco remembers the days, after the war, when the parasites sat waiting for him, his mother, and his shit of a father. He wants none of that for Scorpius or his grandchild.
> 
> Scorpius doesn’t look fond of the idea, thankfully, and agrees to go back. On the condition that Draco fetch him from school when the child is born.
> 
> “Fine, that I can do.” Draco has no desire to make his son stay away from the baby when it is new to the world--they will need to be together, the child will crave the Alpha parent if it is denied it’s Omega parent.
> 
> *
> 
> There is no news from the Potters as the months slip by.
> 
> Not a single word from Potter, not until Albus goes into labour. On the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. Draco finds this fitting, horrible things always come on the second day of May. Astoria’s demise, the son that never breathed, both of Teddy’s parents--so much death in the stone walls of Hogwarts. Death Draco recalls, in vivid detail, when he goes to sleep at night. Now, here comes this unwanted life. Born to two sorry sods who got in over their heads; Draco pities them both. _So, another awful Second of May._
> 
> Potter is forced into his usual heroic duties, as is the Weaslette. As a result Draco is the one who is at the seaside cottage with the Mediwitch Potter summoned--under sworn secrecy--to deliver Draco’s grandchild. He hates the anxiety that fills him. The last time he dealt with birth he had to put his second son and his wife into the family crypt. Much as he hates Mini-Potter, and wishes to undo these unfortunate events, Draco does not want to relive those sorrows. He damn sure doesn’t want Scorpius to live them again. Sitting in Potter’s small family room, Draco claps his hands together and hopes for the best.
> 
> Albus survives, despite how he howls like he’s dying, and so does the child. It’s an Alpha male. Red with the blood of Albus’s body and lungs like Scorpius. Mini-Potter refuses to hold him, and so Draco is the first to hold the child. Smitten the moment the weight is in his arms, despite the fact it’s part Potter. He looks of Scorpius, and that alone makes him love this child more. Far more than he thought he could in the last few months. He vows then to never allow this boy to feel unworthy; it will be his penance for wishing the child gone until these last hours.
> 
> Potter and Weaslette return before the night is out, when the Mediwitch gives the child a clean and clear bill of health. Potter Obliviates her for good measure, and Draco doesn’t sneer or call him a hypocrite like he wants. He’s too busy waiting for Mini-Potter to change his mind about the baby. The wretched boy doesn’t. Mini-Potter signs the child away as if Draco’s grandson is a thing to be bartered.
> 
> “It’s done,” Draco tells Potter while he tucks the custody and non-disclosure agreements into a leather folder. All the while Mini-Potter whimpers in his birthing bed, his mother at his side--holding his weeping face to her bosom as if he is still a baby. Draco supposes, in a way, he is. Just a pitiful child who gave birth to another pitiful life. He wonders if he and Potter were both born for tragedy--a curse they’ve passed to their sons.
> 
> Potter’s eyes are tight, as is his jaw, and he looks ready to say something meaningful--but he settles for, “Goodbye, Malfoy.”
> 
> “Good riddance,” Draco sneers in response, before Apparating himself and his grandchild home.
> 
> *
> 
>  
> 
> He calls Scorpius home early, and McGonagall understands when Draco explains that Scorpius is a new father. She’s got a face full of judgement, but doesn’t comment. Draco’s thankful for that, she still frightens him more than Potter can--so he’d rather not run the risk of hexing her.
> 
> Scorpius’ll return for N.E.W.T.s, but for now he’s at the manor and all he does is sit--staring dejectedly at the child that wriggles in the bassinet Draco bought. During one of the shopping sprees, where he bought this baby everything he could find. If Astoria were still here she would call him foolishly sentimental. Perhaps he is.
> 
> “You’ll have to name him,” Draco tells Scorpius, when the child is two weeks old and still nameless. He’s grown impatient waiting for his son to figure out that this situation isn’t going away anytime soon--Scorpius needs to start dealing with this. He did choose to take the boy, and that choice means he cannot ignore the problem at hand.
> 
> “You name him,” Scorpius mutters while fiddling about with his blasted guitar.
> 
> “Why’d you take him if you don’t want him,” Draco demands, but his voice is gentle because he doesn’t want to hurt Scorpius more than he already is. Yet, he wants answers because this child is innocent, and Scorpius’s indifference will do him more harm than good.
> 
> “It’s the only heir you’ll ever get out of me, I felt obligated.” Scorpius shrugs, meeting Draco’s grey gaze with his own. “I killed your other one, remember?”
> 
> It breaks Draco’s heart, and he collapses to the floor, hugging his son to him in a rare show of overwhelming emotion. Scorpius clings to him, sobbing as he hasn’t since he was young. “I’m sorry, Dad, I’m so fucking sorry.”
> 
> “You didn’t kill your mother or your brother,” Draco shushes him. Meaning it. Astoria and their son, Rigel, died due to unfortunate circumstances. However, Scorpius feels it was him because he was always jealous of the brother he never knew. He’d said selfish things while his mother was pregnant, true, but being a brat didn’t kill Draco’s wife or stillborn son. A very awful sickness did that.
> 
> “I fuck everything up--I can’t name my kid, I’ll fuck that up, too.” Draco doesn't believe that, not for a moment, because Scorpius is wonderful. Smart, capable, and talented in ways Draco always wanted to be when he was young. But he acquiesces, and doesn’t push Scorpius further. Silently accepting that this is something Scorpius cannot bring himself to do.
> 
> Draco names him Orion Scorpius, the name he’d originally wanted for his first born. “Why not Draco,” Scorpius asks when he informs him of the name he’s written in the official register. “You’ll be more his dad than I am.”
> 
> “Because he’s your son, and you will be his father.” 

 

When six months pass, Draco informs Scorpius that he will be staying in Paris, again.

“You're going to leave me alone with him,” Scorpius is horrified by the thought. He's only ever been chaperoned by his father when dealing with Orion. “Gran and Granddad can wait,” Scorpius tells him. Desperate for him not to leave.

“I'm not seeing them,” and like that his father finally admits what he already knew.

“Oh,” he shuffles, dejected. “I just...I’m going to fuck this up.”

Draco walks over to where Scorpius is hunched by the fireplace, and draws him into an awkward hug, “You’ll do fine. If I didn’t believe in your abilities I wouldn’t leave you alone with this.” Then with meaning Draco tells him, “Believe in yourself more, Scorpius--you don’t give yourself enough credit.” Of course Draco has to tell him some trite, fatherly bullshit. Scorpius’ll never admit that it calms him down a bit.

*

“Well, this is weird,” Teddy states when Scorpius wanders into the club with Orion held to his chest with a black woven wrap--some expensive cotton thing the woman in the baby boutique told Draco was necessary.

“Thanks for that,” Scorpius mutters before flopping into one of the barstools while Teddy hastily puts out his cigarette. He’s got some common decency at least, but Scorpius doesn’t mention it or Teddy would be annoyed to know he’s been caught out. He likes to keep up the illusion that he’s a horrible bastard, and not affected by babies and cute shit. Instead Scorpius informs, “Draco’s off to the whore he keeps, and I’m stuck here--with ‘im.” He points down at Orion, who is babbling away while playing with the collar of Scorpius’s thin shirt.

“And you thought I’d be a proper fill in for Draco?” Teddy’s surprise is humorous.

“No, dickhead, I figured it was better sitting around with someone who can actually reply once in awhile.” Because Scorpius knows first hand how well Teddy babysits. The few times Draco trusted him to watch Scorpius when he was young didn’t end well.

“What about a house-elf?” Which is a stupid question because Teddy has met Draco and knows how his father feels about paying for the help of a creature he still believes should be enslaved.

“Draco doesn’t want to pay one. He says I need to work this out for myself.” Scorpius can see the merit in that, at least, but he hates the fact that he’ll probably lose out on sleep tonight because his dad’s too fucking cheap to pay for an overnight nanny.

“That’s shit, mate.” Teddy gives him a pitying glance, and Scorpius didn’t think there’d ever be a day where Teddy was the one pitying him for his fuckups.

“Yeah,” Scorpius shrugs, trying not to let it bother him.

“Well, let’s take ‘im round to the park, yeah? Maybe grab something to eat on the way?” Cheap chips sound brilliant to Scorpius, so he agrees.

*

Teddy’s a lot better with tots than Scorpius gives him credit for--he spends half the afternoon making Orion giggle by shifting his head into the most ridiculous animals. Orion’s favourite seems to be the pygmy puff. He shrieks in delight every time Teddy becomes a large version of a pink ball of fluff. Scorpius regrets not bringing a camera.

On their way back to Hell Gate, Orion crashes against Scorpius’s chest--his open mouth leaking drool all over Scorpius’s favourite Weird Sisters shirt. Teddy chuckles when he spots the annoyed frown Scorpius directs down at his son. “He’s a baby, mate, s’what they do. Ruin everything while being stupidly cute.”

Scorpius snorts, but doesn’t disagree. Orion is stupidly cute.

Teddy fills a pint for him when Scorpius sits at the bar. Club’s still closed, but there’s a comfort in the familiar surroundings. They stay quiet for a long while, but Teddy looks like there’s something he wants to say. His face keeps twisting back and forth with indecision. Scorpius sets his pint down when this drags on for a few minutes, and huffs, “Out with it, yeah, I’m tired of looking at your thinking face.”

“Where’s Orion’s mum?” And isn’t that the billion galleon question?

Scorpius knew, eventually, that the topic would come up. Teddy is his brother, and despite the fact he’s never been nosy about the details of Scorpius’s private matters, Scorpius has never kept anything from him before. “Gone,” is what he settles for. Even if he wasn’t bound by the gag order his father and Mr Potter decided upon Scorpius still wouldn’t tell Teddy all of it. He’s not ready to talk about Albus; Scorpius isn’t sure he ever will be. His inner wrist throbs where Albus’s teeth left their mark, and he tries to will the sensation away. “Too young for this shit, apparently.”

“You’re too young for it, too, mate,” but Teddy doesn’t sound like he’s judging. There’s a good chance Teddy would turn tail and run if he found out he got someone up the spout. Because that level of responsibility is too much for him, and he’s a good six years older than Scorpius.

“Perhaps,” Scorpius agrees, glancing down at the child sleeping against him. “But I’m all he’s got, yeah?” That’s what keeps him from flinging himself off a tower, the knowledge that he’s the one person who wanted Orion from the moment he knew about him. Which is stupid, most likely, because he is too young and hasn’t got a clue about life. He wanted him out of penance, and maybe that’s wrong, but there was no hesitation in him when he’d told Albus he would take Orion. He didn’t want to ruin Albus anymore than he already had.

Teddy pats him on the hair, as if he can sense the morose thoughts filtering through his head, and Scorpius swallows down his emotions. “I know your dad, Pious, he’s a good man--despite his murky history, and he’s a damned good father.” Scorpius looks up at him, to find Teddy wearing a wide grin, “And lemme tell you, mate, I know you’ll be awesome at this dad-ing thing, too.”

*

He’s not so sure when it’s half-past three in the sodding morning and Orion just won’t stop crying. Eventually, Scorpius starts crying too. Overwhelmed with this feeling of inadequacy.

Holding Orion to his chest, settled on the bed, with his head resting over the side while great fat tears stream from his cheeks. “I’m sorry,” he tells his son. “I’m so sorry,” maybe he’s telling Albus, too. “I’m sorry I’m shit at this.”

Orion snuffles, calming down after Scorpius starts talking and he lifts his head--to glance at where his son is holding his head up, watching Scorpius with large green eyes. He smiles, but it feels fractured, “I’m sorry, Orion.”

Orion blows wet bubbles from his mouth, smiling finally, and Scorpius pats him on the back, talking to him. Oddly enough Scorpius talking about everything and nothing is what calms Orion and makes him finally drift off into a heavy sleep.

Scorpius falls asleep soon after, and doesn’t bother returning Orion to his crib.

*

That’s how Draco finds them a few nights later, when he’s back from his week of fucking--something Scorpius definitely doesn’t want to think about. His dad is frowning down at him when he wakes, and before he can ask why Draco speaks, with clear judgement, “You cannot share a bed with a baby.”

“Shut ‘im up dinnit,” Scorpius murmurs--still drowsy and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Please do not speak in the same manner as those ruffians you insist on calling friends.” Draco’s distaste is amusing and causes Scorpius to grin up at him.

“Aw, Daddio, are you jelly of me an’ mah ickle baby’s closeness?” He throws back the covers, motioning for Draco to climb in. “I’ve got room enough for you too, mate.”

Draco doesn’t appear the tiniest bit amused. “Put Orion back in his crib--don’t go spoiling him with unnecessary habits.”

“He’s my kid, remember?” Scorpius reminds when his dad’s halfway to the door, and Draco pauses. Glancing back at where Scorpius is tangled in the sheets, with Orion drooling all over his thin white shirt, and a private smile moves across his mouth. An expression Scorpius hasn’t seen in some time--one that he dares call proud.

“Yeah, he is.” With that said Draco strolls from the room and Scorpius feels like maybe he’s just won. What he hasn’t a clue, but he’ll take any wins he can.

*

The years pass like minutes. Funny how years seemed to drag on in childhood, but now they slip like sand through an hourglass. Scorpius figures children are the true Wizards of life, because they make everything magical and are able to alter the way time works. Draco always seems fond when Scorpius tells him these thoughts. _Now you understand_ he usually whispers, clapping a hand on Scorpius’s shoulder before slipping away like some villain in the night.

“Dad,” Orion shouts, running through the corridors with his usual levels of excitement. “Dad.”

Scorpius is in the music room, sitting at the piano when Orion bursts in--with a sigh he closes the lid to the grand and turns his attention to Orion. He’s not getting any practice in now. “Yeah?”

“I got invited to Marcia’s birthday, can I go, Dad? Please, please, please,” he’s jumping in place, waving some horrid invitation about. Scorpius scowls at the look of it, covered in far too much pink and glitter. Some people believe grim’s are omens of death; Scorpius will argue that hideous glittery invites to children’s parties are the true omens of one’s demise. He’s a feeling this will be his end, or at least the death of his sanity.

“Who is Marcia,” what he asks--in lieu of granting Orion’s request. Because Orion takes the slightest hint of ‘maybe’ as a blood oath.

“The most beautiful person in the world,” is Orion’s immediate answer and Scorpius tries not to pull a face. Teddy will shit when Scorpius tells him later, he can already picture it. He’ll probably have some glib remark about Orion taking after Scorpius. For now Scorpius tries to silently compose himself while running through a mental list of excuses that seem thin at best. Orion’s eyes are large, bright with anticipation and Scorpius knows, then, that he’s going to have to take him.

“Let me have the invitation,” Scorpius sighs with defeat, and Orion crows in delight.

*

“Can’t you take him,” Scorpius is near begging Draco, put out by the idea that Marcia’s mum apparently wants the adults to stick around. Something about how massive this posh fucking affair will be puts Scorpius off. He’s not one for elaborate parties and playing at social niceties. Hell, he can clearly recall hiding in his father’s study for the duration of his sixth birthday party--after that Mother convinced Draco to do small family only functions. Something Scorpius tried with Orion, but Orion likes the attention and crowds--something he definitely didn’t inherit from Scorpius.

“You’ve been to plenty of children’s parties, what’re you so upset about?” Draco doesn’t take pity, the bastard, and Scorpius knows his father is going to make him play at responsible parent and take Orion by himself. He wonders how morally wrong it would be to give his child one of those puking pasties from the Weasley’s joke shop.

“I’ve been to Orion’s, and even then I’m not extremely involved. You know I hate parties,” Scorpius reminds his dad, in a last ditch effort to convince him to let Scorpius off this obligation. Annoyed when he notices the utterly amused expression Draco wears. Wanker.

“I also hate parties,” Draco manages to say this with a straight face causing Scorpius to frown.

“You fucking tit, no you don’t,” Scorpius shakes his head. “Is this punishment for something?”

“Being the reason I’m losing more hair,” Draco replies with another face devoid of emotion and Scorpius loses when he cracks a smile at his father’s joke. Draco cocks an eyebrow at him, smirk appearing, “Take him, you might have fun.”

*

What a load of shit. Scorpius is not having fun. He’s in a suit for fuck’s sake with his hair styled in a fashion that makes him look too much like his dad for his own liking. The only thing he’s thankful for is that Draco relented and allowed him to go without a tie. There had been a lot of back and forth arguing while Scorpius was getting done up for this headache. He’d been planning on coming in his usual dark denim trousers and a thin black jumper, but Draco’d threatened to burn his guitar and other instruments. It was the sort of threat that was more of a promise, and so Scorpius relented to wear this horribly stiff outfit. He’s uncomfortable, and feels like he’s a small child playing at grownup.

Not only is the suit making him ill at ease; the party is another factor in him feeling like he’s going mad. It’s an extremely posh affair considering it’s a five-year-old’s party, and Scorpius agrees with Draco then about how new money is grossly obscene and tacky. Even still he accepts a glass of champagne from a floating tray that slowly passes him by. If anything the alcohol will settle his nerves.

“Escorting your brother,” some old codger enquires when he stops next to Scorpius. “Your father away again for work?” That’s the thing about having a ridiculously well-known father; people at these functions tend to try and speak as if they know him. No one knows Draco Malfoy. Scorpius knows him best and his dad is still manages to remain an unwrapped mystery to him.

“Actually, the little blond one is my son. My father just didn’t want to deal with a juvenile function.” Clearly that ruffles his feathers when he gives Scorpius a furious look. _Fuck him_ , Scorpius thinks. He’s got more important things to worry about than the offended sensibilities of a stranger.

Luckily, his comment keeps the rest of these tossers away from him. He’s seen beady blue eyes darting to him, every once in awhile, as the old bastard makes his rounds to other groups. Spreading his gossip and showing his ill-bred manners. Scorpius could give a shit; he’s not here to make friends. These aren’t the sort of kids he wants his son rubbing elbows with, but Draco insisted on the top rated private school on Diagon. Even though he hates his privileged origins, Scorpius can see the merit of his son going to a excellent school. He can swallow his pride for his son, and make semi-nice with the shits around him. Or at least stand on the fringes and watch as they all judge him for his life’s choices. It’s only when the party is winding down that Scorpius finally moves away from the wall. Going to collect his son from the dark haired girl he’s clearly smitten with. Marcia is a pretty child with black curls that are held with pale pink satin ribbons, and she has the sweetest smile.

“Your daddy is handsome,” she tells Orion, giggling, and then at Scorpius says. “Where’s Orion’s mummy?” He starts to believe her to be an evil little shit when she smiles again; same sweet smile, but to Scorpius it appears more sinister. Even children of five can play at the games they learn from watching their parents’ dance around in social circles--like sponges they soak up the art of backhanded compliments and conniving.

Marcia’s question catches him off guard, and he spots the old fucker who sneered at him whispering something behind his hand, to another of the overly dressed partygoers. Setting Scorpius’s teeth on edge. People can sneer at him, or whatever the fuck they want, but they aren’t allowed to look down on anything pertaining to Orion. He’s gearing up for a rant of epic proportions when Orion’s words take the angry winds from his lungs. “I haven’t got one, but that’s okay--I’ve got a dad and a few granddads and couple of grandmas. I don’t really need a mum.”

*

At home, he’s having a cigarette and a stiff whiskey when Draco joins him in the lounge--a room Scorpius rarely visits because he finds his father’s business partners to be dull fuckers who only have one thing to talk about; dominating the universe.

“Long day,” Draco enquires as he pours his own drink.

“You could say,” Scorpius replies, watching as his dad takes a seat before he retrieves one of his expensive cigars, from the box, on the table between their chairs.

“Want to talk about it,” Draco could easily seep into his mind, but there’s something comforting in knowing that he won’t dig into Scorpius’s thoughts unless invited to do so. Draco’s not a great man--in his own words, not Scorpius’s--but Scorpius knows he’s a decent and good man, even if Draco has his somewhat narrow-minded tendencies.

“I’m feeling terribly inadequate, to be honest,” Scorpius admits on an exhale of smoke.

“Nonsense,” Draco informs. “You’re a Malfoy--nothing about you could ever be inadequate.” It’s heartening to know that his father has retained his confidence--even after the dark stain of the war.

Scorpius grins, “Yeah, well, they all look at me like I am, don’t they?” He’s never been one to be bothered by the glances or assumptions of his peers, but it’s different being amongst other parents. Having them judge him on his parenting--this rankles as nothing ever has before.

“What’s it matter,” Draco cuts the end of his cigar--lighting it with a snap of elegant fingers. “People will talk, Scorpius. They will look down on you, but I’ll give you a bit of advice--advice my mother gave to me.” Scorpius nods at him and Draco’s grin grows sharp, “They talk because they aren’t doing anything worth talking about. Boring people need the stars to look up to; it gives them a sense of hope that they too can be as bright and spectacular.”

“Is that why we’re all named for flaming balls of dust in the sky,” Scorpius isn’t impressed.

Draco’s chuckle is low, and warm, “Yes. You know we are nothing more than ordinary, I know it, every member of the Black household knew it. However, simple people are easily fooled.” Draco leans back, “So let the foolish talk.”

“So let them talk,” Scorpius echoes, feeling better.

“Exactly, and you will find, son, when you quit being bothered that nothing they think or say can hurt you.” He wonders, silently, if this advice kept his father going in those dark days after the war.

“You been saying this shit to my kid, too?” He decides to try and make a joke; if only to dispel a bit of the cumbersome feeling from the air around them.

“In less blunt ways, yes,” Draco’s smirk disappears behind the thick glass of his tumbler. Scorpius laughs, feeling lighter than he had when he first came into this room, and fell heavily into his chair.

*

Lysander is a funny bloke who starts coming round at Teddy’s pub, about the same time Scorpius starts spending more evenings there--tending bar since Teddy’s lost his last bartender. She didn’t take too kindly to the fact that she wasn’t the only one Teddy was sleeping with. Dominique Weasley storming in and throwing that damning plastic piss stick on the bar, and Teddy’s terrified expression are things Scorpius will probably never forget. Teddy’s busy chasing after Dominique these days--a devoted sap now that she’s got his brat growing in her. Scorpius didn’t think Teddy would be the sort of bloke who steps up after an accidental baby, but here he is proving Scorpius wrong. Again. So Scorpius agreed to come in a few nights a week so that Teddy can do his best to make it work with his kid’s mum. Orion’s at the age where he understands why Scorpius is skiving off at night. “Make sure Uncle T is okay, Dad,” he always says before Scorpius slips out, after he kisses Orion’s blond hair and tells him he loves him. Some nights he doesn’t work the bar, but plays a set with Teddy’s band; if their guitarist is off sick--or when they kick the newest one out the band. Whichever comes first.

“So you play,” Lysander enquires, after he’s downed a shot of vodka. Scorpius is just off the stage, sweaty, and back behind the bar because it’s packed tonight and Teddy has begged him to stay until closing.

“Obviously,” Scorpius drawls, sounding like his father in his own ears. It’s disconcerting. Draco probably wouldn’t enjoy the comparison either.

“You in a band?” Which is a bit forward of him.

“No,” Scorpius frowns, wondering what this brat is on about.

“Want to be?” Lysander pushes his thick frames up his nose, and Scorpius shakes his head at the absolute ridiculous way this kid looks. He’s got hair similar to Scorpius’s own, but that’s where the resemblance ends--Lysander favours bright colours and vests with skin tight khaki trousers and poncy black loafers.

“What sort of band,” Scorpius finally ventures to ask, after he fills a pint of Guinness for himself. There’s a tart down the bar shaking her nice tits at him, but he’s not in the mood for that tonight so he ignores her in favour of focusing on Lysander.

“Nothing as loud and angry as this lot, because I’ve heard you sing and it’d be wasted on screaming.” Lysander tells him with a friendly grin. “And I’ve heard your piano when you were still playing at the conservatoire.”

“Did a bit of tutoring there as a job, only for a couple of summers while I was at school,” Scorpius had forgot about all of that; feels like a lifetime ago now, to be honest.

“I know, you tutored me,” Lysander tells him, and Scorpius frowns. Wondering if that’s right, he can’t remember any of the kids he helped. Half the time he barely looked at them while they worked through their basic lessons. He’d only taken the job to avoid working at his dad’s shop all the bloody time. Scorpius remembers finding out about Draco’s whore had been the reason he’d wanted away from his father--enough time to sort his feelings over that particular mess. It had felt like a betrayal to his mum. Draco and she were bonded, and Scorpius hadn’t the first clue about how awful being alone was for his dad. He gets it now, the ache is a chasm that never grows smaller or dulls.

“I don’t remember you,” Scorpius tells him, putting his attention back into the conversation at hand, genuine apology in his tone.

 

Lysander waves him off, not the slightest bit offended, “Don’t worry, I was a pretty forgettable kid, to be honest.” Then, after another shot, Lysander asks, “So, you want to talk about starting a band?”

Scorpius grins, charmed by this kid’s boldness, “Sure.” He, like his father, also requires a distraction from what his soul is missing.

*

“What am I going to do if you get popular,” Draco enquires, and Scorpius has a laugh about that.

“Pay some fucking elves--s’not like you can’t afford it.” He gathers up his guitar, Orion watches him with a curious look, one Scorpius has never seen before. And as he starts towards the Floo Orion grabs him about the wrist. Holding on with a strength he never uses; a hold that feels like desperation. “Hey, mate,” Scorpius smiles at him, excessively gentle. “I’ve got to go now.”

Orion grips him tighter, and Scorpius tilts his head at Draco--indicating he give them a moment alone. Draco goes, for once, without protest and Scorpius is grateful. Once his dad is out of the room, the heavy door clicking closed behind him, Scorpius kneels down to draw Orion into a hug. His son doesn’t say anything, just stands stiffly in Scorpius’s hold like he doesn’t want to accept the comfort. He’s a tough child of seven. Scorpius smiles against his hair, breathing in the scent of youth--grass, sweat, and sunshine. “You know, Orion,” Scorpius begins, at last, “I love you. A lot.” Orion doesn’t look convinced and Scorpius grins at him, when he adds, “Pretty sure I love you more than anything--but don’t tell your granddad, he might get jealous.” That pulls a reluctant smile to Orion’s mouth. They often tease Draco for his vanity and jealousy.

“You’re going to come back, yeah?” Orion finally asks, after long minutes chewing at his lower lip, his small fingers still digging into the sleeve of Scorpius’s thin jumper.

The question startles Scorpius, “Yeah, mate, I’ll come home--don’t I always?” He makes it a point to wake Orion up when he comes in, each night, and tell him goodnight before he climbs into the bed beside his son. Draco still bitches that they share a room, but Orion always tells Scorpius it feels more like they have their own flat in the manor that way.

“This is different,” Orion mutters, and avoids Scorpius’s eye, fiddling with his own jumper now, with his free hand. Scorpius doesn’t have to ask how it’s different, Orion tells him without prompting. “You look like you’re having a lot of fun, my mum preferred fun over me, yeah?” Then there’s the second most heartbreaking whisper Scorpius has ever heard, “You won’t leave me too, will you?” It takes everything in him to not cry.

Scorpius pulls Orion close, holding him firmly against his chest, and whispers, “I will never leave you. I promise you that on everything.” Then he looks down at Orion and asks, “How can I make you believe that, son? If you ask for it I’ll do my damnedest to make it happen.”

“If we have our own flat you’ll always have to come back.” Children’s logic is heart shattering, and Scorpius pulls him close again--trying not to cry when Orion starts whimpering into his jumper.

*

It’s how he winds up with a flat in Knightsbridge--because Draco refused to buy him a place in Brixton. “You’re not living south of the river,” Draco had said, in that overly snotty manner that always manages to remind Scorpius that his father is the king of snobs.

“I hate this place,” Scorpius complains when Draco walks him into the flat and hands him a magical, brass key.

“Because it’s not roach infested and falling apart,” Draco counters with an arch tone. When Scorpius glares at him petulantly Draco adds, “My grandson is not living around those labourers who think all there is to life is fucking, fighting, and drinking until they obliterate what’s left of their brain cells.”

“Lot of my friends are common,” Scorpius reminds and Draco shudders.

“I know, son, I know.” Then, smoothing out the wrinkles in his robes Draco says, “Now, how about we have a look around?”

Scorpius doesn’t want to, but he follows Draco through the flat, pretending to give a shit when his father points out the priceless paintings he’s brought in. Scorpius plans on sending them right the fuck back to the manor when the house-elves come round to bring more of the things he won’t want.

*

Teddy comes round with his kid, Basil, the second week Scorpius and Orion are settling in. They decide to have dinner, like proper adults. A dinner Scorpius Floos to one of the cheap shops on Diagon for. Draco would be horrified to know this is his idea of entertaining.

“Oh, luv, you didn’t have to slave away all day for lil’ ol’ me,” Teddy bats his eyes at Scorpius, and Scorpius isn’t amused by his antics. “Oh don’t frown, Pious, you know I’m just taking the fucking piss,” Teddy voice is full of laughter.

“Bad word, Papa,” Basil reprimands--his annoyed face is a perfect imitation of Dominique’s. Which is quite frightening considering he’s only two.

“How’s it going with his mum,” Scorpius nods at Basil when toddles off--after the sound of Orion, who is in his room mucking about with something. Scorpius is afraid to look, last time he went in there the floor was full of paste and glitter. He’ll have to figure out how to clean the rug Draco bought for Orion’s room, without ruining it, before his dad’s next visit. Sounds like a bleeding chore. He never bothered learning any deep cleansing spells, and now regrets not paying much attention to those charms during his time at school.

“Eh,” Teddy grabs a beer from the fridge, popping it open while he gives his answer. “She’s still iffy about being in a relationship with me--says I’ve got maturity problems.”

“You do,” Scorpius agrees with Dominique. Teddy’s got the maturity of a fifteen year old. “She’s probably afraid you’ll have a few indiscretions behind her back or something.” Which doesn’t sound out of the realm of possibility where Teddy is concerned. He rarely does commitment. In fact, Scorpius cannot remember a time when Teddy had a long-term relationship.

“You serious?” Teddy demands incredulously. “I’m still fucking her on the regular--and she’s better than anyone I’ve ever been with. More like she just thinks I’m a layabout and that I’ve got very little going for me in the way of life goals.”

“She’s right, mate,” Scorpius agrees again. Teddy’s a great bloke, but he’s hasn’t got a clue what he’s doing day by day. So there’s no way in hell he’s got goals or plans or anything that sounds remotely responsible. The club’s about the only goal he’s got, and that kind of fell into his lap.

“Ugh, that’s what sucks,” Teddy groans. “I know she’s right. Even still, I want her to choose me. You know? I don’t mind being a boring, goal having sod if it means I get to spend my life with her.” Which is surprising to Scorpius, because Teddy’s never been one to get hung-up on one partner. His longest _relationship_ up until this one had lasted seven full days.

Scorpius shakes his head, adopting a dry tone when he responds, “I didn’t realise you were such a romantic.”

“I’m a man of many mysteries,” Teddy’s reply is full of cheek. Though the sass goes out of him when he sags against the counter, muttering, “Harry says if I want to really be with her then I need to get my shit together.” Scorpius doesn’t tell Teddy he thinks Harry is a fucking shit who needs to shut his fucking gob; just hums and grabs the cartons of takeaway.

*

Orion is nearing nine when Scorpius’s music career starts generating a bit of popularity, and money--right now they’re breaking even. If it weren’t for Draco Scorpius would most likely be out in the cold, starving. But soon he will no longer be such a heavy burden on his father. Not that Draco minds or complains about all the money Scorpius uses out of their accounts.

Lysander agrees to an interview with _Musical Runes Magazine_ , and Scorpius wants to throttle Lysander for this shit when they start asking invasive questions about his writing process. Because Scorpius is the member of the band with enough emotional angst to keep churning out songs about heartbreak and self-loathing. Lysander thinks Scorpius is genius for his writing, and tells the interviewer as much. “His lyrics pair perfectly with the music that I’ve written, and that’s what makes us such great partners. I can’t write words for shit.”

The woman, with thick rimmed glasses, asks how Scorpius’s father feels about his music. It’s not an unexpected question, really--his dad is an ex-Death Eater, of sorts, so he’s sure this won’t be the only time people try to suss out if Draco’s disappointed in what Scorpius has become. They probably hope Draco is disappointed, so they can run his image through the mud again. Fucking vultures.

“I don’t know,” he replies with stark honesty, because he doesn’t. There’s never been much said on the subject. Scorpius isn’t even sure his dad has heard any of his music. He knows he’s seen the lyrics, of that Scorpius is sure.

 

Draco had given him an unreadable expression, a few months back, after he looked over some of the sheets of paper Scorpius had scattered across the low coffee table, in his flat. However, Draco never spoke a word and Scorpius counted that as a blessing. He didn’t ever want to talk to his dad about how music is his version of therapy. The only sane outlet for forgetting Albus. Drugs and anonymous sex is out of the question because Scorpius is too old for that shit, and he can’t bring that mess to his son. Music is safe.

The lull in his responses must bore the woman that’s interviewing them for she turns her attention to Lysander--he’s much more animated--and for that Scorpius is thankful. He’s ready to get out of here; Scorpius is in dire need of a cigarette.

*

He’s restringing his guitar, on the balcony, with a cigarette held loosely between his lips when Orion joins him. It’s a cool night, and Scorpius thinks of how in just a few days time Orion will be back to school. He’s hoping there isn’t a fight to get him there. It’s always hit and miss; some days Orion can’t wait to bound down the halls to his class, and others he wants to stay with Scorpius and has to be dragged to his classroom.

“What’s on your mind, mate,” Scorpius asks, setting his guitar aside and snuffing out his smoke. Orion flops into his lap, grinning up at him with teeth too large for his head. Some days Scorpius finds that he misses the small baby teeth, and has melancholy seep through him at the reminder that his baby boy is growing up. And fast.

“You know, Dad,” Orion starts, a thoughtful look upon his young face. “I think this year is going to be the best year of our lives.”

“Is it now,” Scorpius chuckles, placing a kiss atop Orion’s hair when he settles into Scorpius’s lap. Young eyes turning toward the dark, murky sky--looking for stars that are obscured by light pollution. “How do you figure?”

“I just feel it in my bones.” Scorpius smiles, hoping that sparkle never goes out of his son’s eyes. It’s the same sparkle he once saw in another set of deep green irises.

“Then so it shall be,” Scorpius tells Orion despite the fact Scorpius is a terrible cynic. He wants to believe in his son’s hope, the way he once believed in Albus’s. These are the tendencies in Orion that Scorpius finds to be bitter-sweet. They sit in silence for a long while, watching at the cars that pass below, and listen as the old couple, a floor below them, takes their ugly pug for her nightly walk. Eventually Scorpius glances at his watch, and with reluctance tells Orion, “Now, to bed with you--it’s late and Granddad is coming to sit with you while I go play a show.” Lysander is putting together a mini-tour soon, something that is causing Scorpius to waver between feelings of guilt and excitement.

“Love you, Dad,” Orion holds onto him for long moments. Scorpius hopes his son’s love for him will never change as he hides a contented smile against Orion’s pale hair.

“I love you more,” Scorpius responds.

*

The stage lights are bright, and he smiles out into the screaming crowd as his band prepares to begin their set. His bandmates are happy, and there’s an energy here that fills him with joy. Even still something is missing--the constant ache in him that comes from the brand left in his skin. He keeps the scar wrapped, at all times, since Albus left, beneath a thick leather cuff that he used to replace his watch’s thin band.

Some days he hates Albus for leaving him with this empty, even though he knows Albus feels it too. He probably feels it deeper--Draco’s always said that Omegas do, but whether it’s true or not Scorpius still hates him for this chasm. Even more he still loves him--maybe not romantically, but for the sole fact that he is the one who gave Scorpius Orion. And Orion is everything.

“I want to sing you a song about the greatest love of my life,” Scorpius tells the crowd while he wears a blinding smile. When they cheer he laughs because he knows they have no idea that his greatest love is his son. Scorpius will live with the fractured feeling that fills his days, gladly. Same as he would take that bond bite, and share that heat again--if given the opportunity to change his fate Scorpius knows he wouldn’t. How could he? He wonders when he sees Orion standing just offstage, yelling praise and smiling as if he’s proud.

_Thank you, Alb._  



End file.
